Originally Posted by
ThirdEmperor
Kitchen
The kitchen might have seen better days. It's hard to tell. Strahd's been quite busy you see, so busy in fact that any evidence of grander times for the humble eatery is well and truly buried, beneath piles of spoons, knives, forms, corkscrews, pots and pans and woks. Plates have been arrayed into towers out of sheer boredom, inhabited now by tiny food people scraped together from scraps, little breadcrumb men in bottlecap armor jousting with toothpicks among the clutter.
As for the inventor culinary innovator of this bizarre kitchen fort, Strahd is passed right out in an ancient, overstuffed armchair crammed into the one clean corner, a newspaper over his eyes and his feet resting on an upside down spaghetti strainer. A steady chorus of snoring like the protests of a dying combustion engine assure that he's well asleep, but waking him might be kinder than letting him rest.
This is, what, his first order in how many months?